The Thing With Feathers
by Cassandra Truths
Summary: Dean Winchester was a federal agent, not a soldier. But in the end, he finds himself marching to war alongside the angel Castiel.


The old apartment building was a maze of possible ambush points, and Dean Winchester's nerves were on edge as he paced noiselessly through the basement corridor, one eye on his surroundings and the other on his hand-held electromagnetic field reader. He was sweating under his kevlar vest and the back of his neck itched where the hair was standing on end. This was the culmination of three long days of hard work, and he had no intention of screwing it up.

"I'm in position," Sam's familiar voice murmured in Dean's ear.

"Same here," Jo reported over the radio. Dean nodded to himself.

"Garth?" He asked softly. "Garth, are you ready?"

"Yeah, yeah," panted the younger man. "I'm good to go."

"Ok, we've only got one shot at this, so let's get it right," Dean said, glancing at his emf reader again. "On my signal." He checked his weapon, even though he'd already done so twice already. He finally reached the door marked "Furnace" in tarnished metal letters. He checked the door handle. Locked, as he suspected. He took a step back and gathered himself to kick the door down.

"Dean, wait," Rivka's voice crackled through the earpiece, causing Dean to flinch. He pocketed the emf reader and pressed a finger to his ear.

"Dammit, Rivka," he hissed. "What the hell is it?"

"I'm picking up on movement around the outside of the complex. They're trying to flank Sam and Jo. They may know we're here."

"Shit," Dean muttered unprofessionally. "Garth, swing around to back Jo up. Sam, you gonna be okay?"

''I've got it," Sam confirmed.

"Ok. I'll try to drive them to you," Dean told his team. "I'm going in." He secured his grip on his weapon, braced himself, and kicked the door open.

For a moment there was dead silence, and then Dean pulled the trigger. A gout of fire boiled from the nozzle of the flamethrower, illuminating the room beyond. A dozen small, dark shapes skittered away with high-pitched shrieks of anger. Dean swept the flamethrower around and caught two of the shapes. They both instantly caught fire and burned to ashes in seconds. The rest did not, as Dean was hoping, flee, but rather turned and charged straight at him. There were more than a dozen. A lot more.

Dean cursed and backpedeled into the hallway. The nearest creatures followed him out and he got his first good look at them. They appeared to be made of old leather and weathered wood, not taller than knee-high, and were dressed in scraps of dirty cloth. They had oversized ears and wizened features. But what concerned Dean the most were their ridiculously long claws and wickedly sharp teeth.

One of the little imps latched onto Dean's leg and started gnawing ferociously. Dean had taken precautions, however, and was wearing heavy, leather chaps to protect himself. He reached down with a gloved hand, ripped the creature off of him, and flung it into the mob of others before following it with a jet of flame. The tiny monsters burned like ricepaper, but even more boiled out of the darkness, screeching their rage as they fought to get at the intruder.

"Change of plans, guys," Dean panted into his headset. "I'm bringing them to you." With that he turned and, without any shame, beat a hasty retreat down the hall.

Now Dean was no slouch. He could outrun anyone he knew except Sam. But the damned critters gained on him with every second, still screaming their high-pitched war cries. Dean reached the stairs to the ground floor and bounded up them three at a time. Just as he reached the door, it swung open, revealing the silhouette of a bulky giant, aiming a long, silver weapon straight at Dean's chest.

There was a muttered curse, and then Sam grabbed Dean's vest with his free hand, pulling him through the doorway and out of his line of sight. Then he filled the stairwell with a torrent of flame. Dean stood at Sam's back, catching his breath. Sam kept up the stream of flame for nearly two minutes before releasing the trigger. The cement walls of the stairwell were blackened and the rubber coating the steps was melted and warped. The ground was covered in fine, black ash.

"Dude, could you have cut that closer?'' Sam snapped irritably at Dean as he turned to do a visual check of his brother.

"Shut up, Sammy,'' Dean panted back.

Sam reached up to tap his earwig on. "Jo, Garth, you getting anything?'' Dean heard the radio click open and the rush of fire fill the line.

"Get back to you on that," Jo yelled over the sound of the inferno. Dean inspected the teeth marks on his protective gear.

"Damn," he commented to himself. Sam hit him on the shoulder.

"Let's go," he said. "They may need back up." The two of them headed for the back entrance where their teammates had been waiting by the air vents the creatures had been using to enter and exit the building. By the time they arrived, there was a ten-foot half-circle of burned grass and an even bigger soot-stain on the side of the building. Garth flipped up the visor of his face mask and grinned his slightly goofy grin.

"Think we got them all?"

"We'll have to do a thermal sweep to be sure, but I doubt it," Dean said. "The damn things had a whole colony down there."

"Well, the complex was built on their territory," Jo said, swiping blonde hair off her sweaty face.

Dean scowled. "This is why when people say a place is bad news, you should freakin' listen."

"Dean, you've got incoming," Rivka reported through the headsets. "Human, this time." Dean looked around and saw a flashlight beam bobbing towards them. He scowled again and wiped a hand over his forehead, unknowingly smearing soot across his skin.

"What time is it?"

"Three twenty," Sam supplied. He was watching the approaching flashlight, too.

"Garth, you did give the local police a head's up, right?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," the younger man replied. Whatever faults he may have had, he was absolutely dependable. If he was told to do something, it was as good as done.

"Who's there?" called an annoyed-sounding male voice from behind the flashlight. "This is private property. You're all trespassing!"

Dean sighed and dug around for his badge, holding it up when he finally found it. "Department of Special Affairs, sir," he called back. "We're here on official business."

The flashlight lowered, revealing a man in his fifties, slightly overweight, and wearing a private security uniform. "No one told me anything about you being here," he complained gruffly, reaching for Dean's badge.

"We came about the...vermin problem," Dean explained with a sigh as the watchman examined his credentials.

"Never heard about the government getting involved with a bunch of rats,'' the watchman grumbled, eying them suspiciously. Jo rolled her eyes with a snort but Sam elbowed her in the ribs with a warning look. Dean took his badge back from the watchman.

"We've still got some work to do," he said pointedly. "No point in inconveniencing yourself any more than you already are." The watchman took the hint, but he wasn't happy about it. He leveled a dark look at all four of them before shuffling off in the direction he had come.

"God," Jo burst out. "Are people really that dumb? Rats? Seriously?''

Garth shrugged, unaffected, as usual. "Ignorance is bliss," he said philosophically.

Rivka jogged up at that moment, carrying an armful of thermal gear. "Okay, I'm ready," she said, looking around the small knot of people.

Dean brandished his flamethrower. "Let's clean this place up."

XxxXxxX

Garth fell asleep on the way back, and Sam and Jo got into an argument over who had to do clean up. Jo lost because she was still the rookie, and complained the rest of the drive. Dean sat in the passenger seat of the van they'd requisitioned for the case and closed his eyes, letting the voices (and snores) of his team wash over him.

They were an unusual team, even by DSA standards. For one thing, there was Dean and Sam. Brothers on the same team, unheard of in any other situation. But they'd proven they were nigh unstoppable together. Some people still talked behind their backs, saying it was because of their name, and who their father was, but they both knew they'd damn well earned it.

Garth Fitzgerald had been transferred out of every team he'd been placed on until the brass had finally handed him to Dean out of sheer desperation. If Dean didn't want him, the poor agent would end up on desk duty at Elkins. No one had any solid reason why Garth was universally disliked, but so far he'd worked out with Dean's team.

Jo Harvelle had graduated the Academy barely four months back, and it was unusual to put a rookie on a senior team like Dean's. But he'd taken one look at her graduating scores and asked for her by name. She'd worked hard to prove herself, and Dean was pleased with her so far.

And then there was Rivka Macintosh, their logistics officer slash just about everything else. She'd been in the DSA as long as Dean had, but he'd never met her before she was transferred a few months ago. She was quiet to the point of reticence, and Dean still knew next to nothing about her.

They weren't popular among their peers at the department, but they had the highest closure rate of any team, despite being together for such a short time. Dean didn't ask much from them, just that they did their job and checked their baggage at the door.

They dropped the van off at the carpool and hit the locker rooms to shower. Dean and Sam bickered goodnaturedly as they dressed, ignoring the others around them. But they both looked up when the room fell unnaturally quiet. There was an angel in the doorway, silently watching the humans. With their usual disregard for gender boundaries, the angel was female, and there was no indication that she _was_ an angel if one didn't already know. The angel turned her large brown eyes on Dean.

"You didn't come see me when you returned, Agent Winchester," she said mildly.

Dean pulled a t-shirt over his head. "None of my team were injured, Hael," he told her. "Didn't want to waste your time."

"Humans are incapable of making accurate assessments of their own bodily state," Hael said with a dismissive hand wave. "You could have taken injury without knowing about it."

"Yeah, Winchester," one of the other agents said in a carefully neutral voice. "You might have gotten hurt fighting off all those garden gnomes."

"I hear those things are nasty," another agent added. "I'd get checked out, just in case."

"Stuff it," Dean growled back, grabbing his jacket. He stalked toward Hael, who moved aside to allow him through thr door.

"Korrigan," he heard Sam say behind him.

"What?" Asked the first agent.

"They were called korrigans," Sam replied. "A good agent like you, I'd expect you would know that." That teased a smirk out of Dean, but he wiped it off his face as soon as Sam caught up with him.

"Dicks," he muttered angrily.

Sam shrugged. "They're just jealous because we are so much more awesome than they are."

Dean allowed that to appease him. He turned and walked backwards a couple of steps to face Hael. "Have you checked the rest of my team?"

"Agent Harvelle had minor burns, and Agent Fitzgerald sustained smoke inhalation," she replied in her soft voice, expression serene. "They have already been treated." A look of mild reproof crossed her face. "They came to see me, as is protocol."

Dean grinned at her without much humor. "You know me, always sticking it to the man."

Sam grabbed Dean, who was still walking backwards, and pulled him to the side of the hallway just in time to keep him from colliding with another angel. Uriel gave Dean a disdainful glare and swept past them without slowing, only nodding at Hael as he passed. Dean scowled after him, shaking Sam's hand off his arm.

Dean knew precisely why he didn't like angels. It was because they weren't like the other creatures he hunted. There was nothing about them that indicated they were anything other than human. They could pass completely undetected if they so chose. It wasn't until they used their powers, or unfurled their vast wings, that they revealed their true nature.

Dean stalked the rest of the way to the clinic in a foul mood, and said nothing while Hael conducted her examination. Since she was not given to small talk, either, it was a silent quarter of an hour before she dismissed him with a clean bill of health. Dean decided not to wait for Sam and headed straight to his office.

The DSA headquarters was officially known as the Daniel Elkins Memorial Building, after the director of the department who revolutionized their operation procedures in the seventies. It was more commonly known as Elkins. It was a newer building, outwardly no different than the other skyscrapers on the D.C. skyline. But it had more security protocols than the White House, and the employees had higher clearances. The building itself sat on six stories of underground laboratories and holding cells, all of which did not exist on any official records.

Dean palmed the scanner outside his office door and waited for the lock to click open. Only two people had access to his office besides him. One was Director Bobby Singer, who had unfettered access to the whole building, and the other was Sam. There were three messages waiting for him on his computer, all of them from Charlie. The IT genius slash hacker had submitted two rambling reports that Dean had asked for two weeks ago, and the third was an invitation for dinner at her place on Saturday night.

The rumor mill had it out that they were dating, as they spent so much time together off the clock. Somehow someone found out Dean had a drawer and a toothbrush at Charlie's apartment, and they just took it from there. The reality of the matter was they ate pizza and played drinking games while watching the classic Star Trek movies. Besides, Charlie was into girls as much as Dean was, and Sam was there more often as not.

He glanced through the reports, tabbed them as important, and fired off a one-line reply to Charlie's invitation. The lock on the door clicked before it swung open and Sam stuck his head into the office.

"I ran into Bobby," he announced. "He wants us to take the weekend off. Wanna crash at my place?"

Dean checked his watch. It was a quarter to seven and he hadn't slept in nearly thirty six hours. "Yeah, sounds good," he agreed. "Charlie wants us over tomorrow. Can Jess get the night off?"

"I'm sure we can swing it," Sam replied. "You driving?"

Dean retrieved his keys from the desk drawer. "Yeah. Give me a sec."

While Sam headed down to the parking garage, Dean headed into the corner of the bullpen set aside for his team. Rivka was at her desk, frowning at her computer. She glanced up as Dean approached. "I can have a full report by Monday," she said.

Dean waved a hand dismissively. "Don't sweat it. I actually want you to work on something else, if you have the time." Rivka leaned back in her chair, brown eyes questioning. Dean handed her a printout from one of Charlie's reports. "What do you know of this symbol?"

The female agent took the folder and flipped it open. On the top rested a single photograph of a symbol spray-painted onto a wall. A black trident, simple and slightly ominous. "It started appearing a couple years ago, when the demons appeared to be organizing into a cohesive unit," Rivka said, brows drawn together. She closed the file and put it down on her desk. "It's a signature, a rallying point for them."

"I want everything you can find on that symbol, what it means and where it's shown up before," Dean instructed.

Rivka stared at him for a minute. "I get the feeling this isn't an official assignmment."

"No, it's not," Dean admitted. "Like I said, just if you get the time."

She opened a drawer, pulled out a hair tie, and bound her dark hair back from her face. "Consider it done," she said with a firm nod.

"Thanks," Dean said. "Get some rest. It's been a long week."

Rivka smiled crookedly. "Sleep is for the weak. I'll be fine."

XxxXxxX

Sam had a house in Arlington, away from the chaos of the city. Jess' car was in the driveway when Dean pulled the Impala to the curb, and he saw some of the weariness in Sam's face fall away in anticipation. Sam got to the front door ahead of Dean, and paused in the act of digging out his keys at the sight of the box on the front stoop. He leaned down to pick it up when Dean caught up with him.

"Sam, wait!" Dean barked, and Sam froze, instinctively obeying _that_ tone of voice. Dean pulled Sam back from the unmarked package and crouched warily over it, probing it with a pen before flicking the lid off.

"Wow, Dean," Sam deadpanned. "Thanks for saving me from the deadly flowers." Dean glared at his little brother before reaching under the bouquet of black roses to pull out a plain white card. On the inside there was only the impression of bright, red lips.

"I thought you said she was leaving you alone," Dean growled. Sam returned Dean's scowl and opened the front door.

"She was. We hadn't heard anything from her in months." Dean picked up the flower box and followed Sam inside.

"You were supposed to tell me if anything happened, Sam."

"I have!" Sam protested. "I told you when she cut the brake lines in Jess' car, and when she killed our dog! There's been nothing else!"

"You have a demon stalking you," Dean pushed, tossing the flowers into the kitchen trash can. "This isn't something to take lightly."

"I am not taking this lightly," Sam snarled back. "And don't you think I would know if something bad was going to happen?"

That did not lighten Dean's mood any. He did not like to be reminded that Sam was an unregistered, and technically illegal, psychic. If anyone found out what Sam could do, his career would be over in an instant. Even if he could avoid being arrested, there would be tests, more tests, and then confinement to a special facility "for his comfort and protection" while his services were auctioned off to the highest bidder. The DSA regularly hired psychics and they all creeped the hell out of Dean.

Dean was tempted more than anything to probe at Sam's mind, to ferret out his thoughts and emotions, unravel the tangled threads to get a glimpse inside his head. But Dean had sworn never to do that to family, and he dared not risk Sam discovering that he wasn't the only psychic in the family. As the brothers glared at each other across the kitchen, there were footsteps in the hallway. The light clicked on and Jess appeared in the doorway. She looked between the two and grimaced.

"Bad case?" she asked.

"No, nothing like that," Sam said, smoothing his displeasure off his face as he went to greet his fiance. She slid into his arms like she was made to fit there and the lines of Sam's body relaxed.

Dean looked away, trying to ignore the pull in his chest. He was happy for his brother, of course. Jess was a rare creature, gracefully putting up with the strange hours and forced silence of the DSA. Dean didn't care to ruminate on his empty apartment or his string of one-night stands that never went beyond a second date.

"Do you want me to make you guys pancakes?" Jess offered.

"No, we're good," Dean said quickly.

She smiled at him. ''It's okay. Eggs and bacon, too?"

Dean spent as much time at their house as he did at his own apartment, so he had no trouble helping his sister-in-law whip up an impromptu meal while Sam made coffee and set the table. For a while he could forget work and monsters and angels and just enjoy being part of his tiny family.

God only knew when his next chance would be.


End file.
